Its been an age but finally I can move my Withy characters to Laurelin.

Clear as day…

Kin should be moving en masse so I should be able to get crafting help for my poor hobbit Opopa.

Opopa can then continue his adventures with BINGO…I am so far behind that it will probably take until 2017 to catch up and by then I hope Tsukuld will have reached level cap… which will be the first time I have ever done that in an MMO…

Chapter 3

The Unbearable Unlikelyness of Being

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hairWarm smell of colitas, rising up through the airUp ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering lightMy head grew heavy and my sight grew dimI had to stop for the nightThere she stood in the doorway;I heard the mission bellAnd I was thinking to myself,“This could be Heaven or this could be Hell”Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the wayThere were voices down the corridor,I thought I heard them say…

Opopa was lost for words, a rare occasion but not as rare an event as a rabbit that was not lost for words but rather one that simply refused to shut up. The other drinkers in the Bird and Baby seemed oblivious to the verbose rabbit. None turned an ear to listen at least. Sid the barstool, inanimate as it was, was unable to fathom the rabbit either, it sensed a sentience but also a strangeness, but as soon as it was obvious it would not be ordering beverages, it lost interest and instead maintained full inert attentiveness on Opopa; there looked like no chance he was going anywhere soon even without subliminal telepathic messaging, so it could lazily soak in the warmth of a padded bum on its head and simply relax, a heavenly state for any barstool.

The brown rabbit was a bit of a wind bag, and had been speaking for some time. Opopa was listening with a growing sense of being out of his depth. He was sinking slowly into a quagmire of words. He did not have the vocabulary to fully understand the rabbit, who threw out names and concepts simply alien to this simple hobbit burglar. The weight of conversation with the blabber mouthed rabbit was too much for him, he resorted to nodding erm’ing and ah’ing and hoping the rabbit wouldn’t notice. He had learnt to guess appropriate times to down more beer and in emergencies he would hold up an arm in mock surrender to halt conversation and wave down the barkeep for more ale. The rabbit would pause and idly scratch his ear with its hind foot or survey the crowded bar alertly as if for danger; when Opopa was suitably beveraged up it would continue.

There were moments when comprehension reared its head and Opopa would suddenly soar back to life, interrupting the rabbits flow with an interjection or comment.

Welcome to the Hotel CaliforniaSuch a lovely place (Such a lovely place)Such a lovely facePlenty of room at the Hotel CaliforniaAny time of year (Any time of year)You can find it here

“Did you just say that you can’t know reality?”

The rabbit glowered back, “No I said, ‘Kant held that our sensory observations (knowable, catalogable, shared) do not necessarily reflect, and certainly do not exhaust, ’Real’ reality which is unknowable, but ‘True’ in the most profound sense.’”

Opopa, lost but feeling it impolite to er’m or ah’m after interjecting in the first place decided a knowing “Oh!” would be appropriate…

The Rabbit continued “You can’t have heard of Kant?”

“Of course…”

“Cannot!”

“Can!”

“Can’t!”

Opopa gave in, “Kant?”

“Yes you see, you are just an object not a thing-in-itself? You have no free will, Kant allowed for free will among things-in-themselves while admitting that causality clearly operates in the observed world…”

Opopa while not fully understanding felt this upsetting on some level, “I am the maker of my own destiny.” He declared.

Her mind is Tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes bendsShe got a lot of pretty, pretty boys she calls friendsHow they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat.Some dance to remember, some dance to forget.

Opopa brain was dancing around so much, that the bar was bending before him… maybe it was not the bar bending but him-self!

The Rabbit again continues, “You exist and you don’t, you are in an actual state of being and not being, you are and ‘are’ simultaneously ‘are not’, you exist as an idea: in words, code and thought. You are not a sentient being-in-itself other than as an idea of a sentient hobbit but as such to progress in game and in story needs to exist to persist. You are in a quantum state of being, if we check on you of course you are NOT, yet if we follow you and your actions in this story, you attain a state of solidity we assign to you and in such a state you do indeed exist as a thing-in-themselves or else this is just a pointless exercise in pontification on nothingness. To continue we need you to be more than nothing. A fine adventure that would be…!”

So I called up the Captain,“Please bring me my wine”He said, “We haven’t had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine”And still those voices are calling from far away,Wake you up in the middle of the nightJust to hear them say…

Opopa completely and utterly baffled, waves down the bar keep and asks for some wine, who apologizes for not having any, strangely, gives Opopa a free beer!

The rabbit undeterred continues, “Jung thought ‘As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of hobbit existence is to kindle a light of meaning in the darkness of mere being.’ And Marx said, ‘It depends not on consciousness, but on being; not on thought, but on life; it depends on the individual’s empirical development and manifestation of life, which in turn depends on the conditions existing in the world.’ But before we wander too far down that weighty branch of metaphysics that is ontology – about what can or cannot exist, we better take a break before this old game engine snaps… You exist enough for me to be here talking to you.”

“I am Opopa!” Opopa states as if answering a question.

“Good point!” and continues, “A proper name strictly has no meaning when there is no object to which it refers. This view relies on the argument that the semantic function of a proper name is to tell us which object bears the name, and thus to identify some object. But no object can be identified if none exists. Thus, a proper name must have a bearer if it is to be meaningful. And you bear the name Opopa, so all is meaningful.”

Opopa, groaning, drinks more beer.

Welcome to the Hotel CaliforniaSuch a lovely place (Such a lovely place)Such a lovely faceThey livin’ it up at the Hotel CaliforniaWhat a nice surprise (what a nice surprise)Bring your alibis

The rabbit continues… “Opopa, you are a literary device, an avatar and a character in a narrative, a twisted narrative generated by an obvious twisted mind, a tsunami of un-thought out and unclear ideas let loose on your poor self. Buffeted by as yet unknown twists of fate which are the result of more than one creative source… adrift you are in the heavy seas of the unknown, your destiny bound fast to what has yet to be played out or written down.”

“Aha! True the supreme deity of Arda. Hmm… Was the single creator above the Valar! But Tolkien created Arda, Middle Earth. Words becoming reality, Codemasters created a digital Arda, Turbine blew more life into it that persists to this day. This digital existence is interacted with by thousands and their creations gain weight, so the nothingness is expanding…”

“The absurd notion that you, Opopa do not exist is juxtaposed against the proposition that obviously you do exist. The universe will never truly care for hobbits the way we seem to want it to. The atheist view of this statement is that people create stories, or gods, which in their minds transcend reality to fill this void and attempt to satisfy their need. It is impossible to know your creator, or to understand His purpose. But we do not give up trying…”

“Do not give in, Camus described suicide as the most appropriate and rational reaction to the absurd — but admitted that this is not a very rewarding or worthwhile reaction and it would cut short the narrative! It is not as simple as Descartes stated ‘I think, therefore I am.’”

“Indeed it is the feeling of being suspended over a void, and looking into that void. It is how one adjusts themselves towards death, and their knowledge of their own death, falling into that void. For Heidegger, existentialism is the study of how someone gives meaning to their finite life with the understanding that their time is limited; let’s face death hobbit, for surely to die is to prove ones existence.”

“Do not be trapped within this cave, the bird n baby, being deluded by a demon, what may not be real is not necessarily an illusion. (Sid wobbled internally at this point, thinking that his manipulations had been exposed…) The world of simulations increasingly will take on a life of its own. Listen to me, do not remain ignorant of those that control you, do not persist in a state of false consciousness. Follow me further into the Matrix, let me be your Morpheus, let me introduce you, Opopa, new to the real world, by welcoming you to ‘the desert of the real.’ Who is this Morpheus? Does he exist? Does anything I have just said make any sense? Never mind, don’t think about it too much, just follow the rabbit on this adventure, and this rabbit says to follow Bingo.”

“But! But.. but you will lead me down a rabbit hole or worse…”

“Opopa dear friend, you already are down the rabbit hole, the adventure is afoot… a magical wooden foot in your case! You are in a wonderful land, the unlikeliness of you a mere hobbit bringing light back into the darkening world should not deter you. Follow me!”

“Why should I? I don’t even know your name?”

“I am Tobi!”

“To be?”

“Now that really is the question…, ‘To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether ’tis Nobler in the mind to suffer the Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune, or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles, and by opposing end them: to die, to sleep no more; and by a sleep, to say we end the Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks that Flesh is heir to? ‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep, to sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause.’”

Authors Note: I am messing with words and ideas of people of far greater intellect than myself and the original words and ideas I have to admit are sometimes way beyond my comprehension! So should I desist in the endeavor? Hell no! Where is the fun in that?

So Bingo arrived and I have been focusing a lot on Opopa, my hobbit burglar on Laurelin, I have been neglecting this poor hobbit for an age… and now I have started the Adventures of Opopa fan-fiction I have ideas that require me to get him moving…so there will be more OPOPA stuff in the future which can only be a good thing…keep reading… I created an index page: https://tsuhelm.wordpress.com/the-adventures-of-opopa/

The wonder of doing an ‘e-book’ is you can change the cover from moment to moment!

Opopa will not so lonely any more…as Tsukuld will probably be moving with his kin to Laurelin due to server mergers. Or closures as some pedantic commentators persist in calling it…why not call a glass half full of lovely beer a dirty smelly glass of disgusting evil liquid…why don’t ya…? Negative trolls you are all! Tsukuld has started exploring the Eaves of Fanghorn, and as all forests should be he keeps losing his bearing, exacerbated by not spending more time there…

My original char Tsuhelm (and his extensive support staff!) on Windfola will have to move to one of the remaining US servers… as yet I am clueless as to which I will choose…as all he does is collect Hobbit Presents at the moment there is no rush!

Chapter 2

Cross Country

There’s a message-FLOATINGIn the airCrazy horses riding everywhere

Opopa was not the best rider in the world but he was far from the worst, he preferred riding cross country to the ‘roads’ and ‘byways’ of the Shire. The latter, with their lush verges and stone walls, he felt restricted by, whereas the former, he was free to improvise at any moment. If he fancied jumping a wall yonder, not exactly directly in the direction of travel he would. Indeed over the years he had developed a theory that time was relative, and travelling was sped up immeasurably by fun.

You can run in a straight line to your goal and get there ‘quickly’, but out of breath and not exactly happy. But by letting oneself be waylaid from ones path and amusing oneself, admittedly normally by whatever drinking establishment he encountered, he finally got to his destination jolly, the journey had been painless and even enjoyable. Sometimes he never did get to his intended destination but ended up somewhere entirely different. Opopa agreed with the hobbit philosopher, Fosco Chubb-Baggins*, who is quoted as saying, ‘The path into the light seems dark, the path forward seems to go back and the direct path seems long. Yet if you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading. It’s all relatively straightforward in a kind of roundabout way!’

It’s a warningIt’s in every tongueGotta stop them crazyHorses on the run

Arriving in Tuckborough, Opopa road directly into the open doorway of the library, he was dismounted the instant he passed the threshold of the large hobbit hole. Horses do not like to enter inside structures of middle earth and wait patiently outside, ready to be called for their next journey. They even follow the owner, silently and unseen through the most hazardous of landscapes, always just a whistle away. Opopa knew how to whistle, ‘Just put your lips together and blow.’** He did prefer drinking to whistling but a good whistle had the added factor of making him look slightly more innocent, useful for a burglar!

What a show, there they goSmoking up the sky, yeahCrazy horses all got ridersAnd they’re you and I

Crazy horsesCrazy horses

The librarian was new, and knew just what Opopa was looking for, 3 glowing tomes, lootification sense kicking in again, 3 cookbooks, sat upon the top of a bookshelf. Opopa picked up one to look at and superfast, the librarian whipped the others away. It looked as if Opopa had selected a cooking book for Bingo. He tried to protest to the librarian when suddenly a hugely tall elf burst into the low library and rushed over, Opopa turned to greet the new arrival, and said, “Hello!” But the crimson cloaked elf pushed past without a thought and after a quick exchange with librarian left again! Barging past, almost through Opopa! He considered better of trying to see the other cookbooks and also took his leave from the library.

The librarian simply noted down Opopa’s name in a ledger…

Never stop and they never dieThey just keep on puffinHow they multiply

Opopa demonstrated his ability to whistle, he put his lips together and blew! His horse quickly arrived and with agile aplomb he lept onto his mount and was off. Of course he quickly veered from the cobbled path and headed over a fence and across a field in the general direction of Michel Delving. Zig zagging in obvious enjoyment, speeding up his journey in his mind if not actually in reality.

Luckily for Bingo there were no bars enroute between Tuckborough and his home, Opopa arrived as the sun was setting to find a mounted horseman in conversation with Bingo.

“What the!” Opopa exclaimed as he realized it was the same rude elf!

He rode directly up to the elf but the elf turned and departed just before Opopa was close enough to make a grab for him, he would have relieved him of a few baubles as a punishment for his impoliteness, maybe with a lighter load the elf would make better time to his destination…

Bingo was pleased to see Opopa. His face lit up in excitement as Opopa passed him the cookbook, with a lick of a finger tip he was flicking through pages and um’ing and ah’ing. He had forgotten Opopa was even there, still mounted, waiting. Suddenly a piece of parchment slipped out of the book and fell to the floor at his feet. Distracted from his culinary imaginings he scooped down and plucked it up, gingerly opening it out to reveal a map of sorts, an old one.

“What’s this?” He exclaimed, “Is this yours?” Opopa shook his head, while at the same time moving closer, as close as his horse would allow, to try and get a better look at the paper in Bingo’s shaking hands.

Bingo suddenly thrust the papers at Opopa, “Not for me, not for me. Here you take this. Yes take this to the Mathom house, they will know what to do with it.” He thrust the papers at Opopa and ran off with his cookbook into his hole.

Crazy horsesWill they never haltIf they keep on movingThen it’s all our fault

Opopa had nothing to lose, and his lootificaion sense was still pinging strongly, so he headed off to the Mathom house directly, which took a considerable force of will to resist his own his thirst and the idea of a cool and lonely Sid. He rode directly to the house on the hill above the Bird and Baby. Out of necessity, there was little room for diversions for fun to speed the trip up.

Again the rude elf was riding off as he arrived…

The Mathom society were happy to receive the map but refused at the last to take it, perplexing Opopa until he followed the gaze of the Mathom official to a red faced, panting Bingo, who had run half way up the hill.

“No, no, no, no, no! I have changed my mind. Changed my MIND!” He screamed, before breaking down again, sobbing, bent over, gasping for air, hands on knees. Opopa quickly rode over. “I have changed my mind…” He said, feebly to the floor, “I want to investigate the map myself!” And more forcefully, “I want to have an ADVENTURE!”

What a show, there they goSmoking up the sky, yeahCrazy horses all got ridersAnd they’re you and I

Bingo had calmed down and Opopa had agreed to help out as best as he could. There was something about Bingo, he emanated an aura of adventure, it was not only a whiff of ‘loot’, something big, something special was going to happen to Bingo. Opopa sensed this, and was drawn to it, he had decided to follow Bingo Boffin the Adventurer to wherever he would go.

Bingo in return had promised much and handed over, so far, very little; a few gold tokens of weird design. He’d explained that he had come into an agreement with a new merchant to the shire, down near the Michel Delving stables. That the tokens could be exchanged for gifts with him and him only!

Opopa of course went to investigate and found the merchant dour and unfriendly, he handed over the tokens and the merchant wordlessly handed back a brown rabbit. Too confused to protest, Opopa accepted the trade. The confusion grew when the rabbit started to speak to him…

Opopa was thirsty, it had been a long day, he had covered a lot of country, much more than was necessary having fun. He had been active! Opopa at last gave up the good fight and went back to Sid, who had missed him. The regulars at the Bird and Baby acknowledged his return with a nod and a wink, no one paid any attention to the brown rabbit that hopped down beside him.

Opopa ordered a few beers to begin with. His thoughts were unordered and chaotic. He looked down at the rabbit and downed a pint.

The brown rabbit scratched his ear, he had been waiting patiently but enough was enough, “Now listen here hobbit! I crossed many countries to get here. You! Are! Going! To talk to me…”

NOTES:

*The Hobbit Name Generator was used to change Lao Tzu…whom I apologize to for messing with your wise words! Entering ‘Ying Yang’ gives Borgulas Goodbody, I am so going to use this…

**Lauren Bacall’s full quotation was “If you want me just whistle. You know how to whistle don’t you? Just put your lips together and blow.” Funnily enough if she was a hobbit she would be called: Myrtle Gamgee-Took. Humphrey Bogart would be Minto Deepdiver!

Chapter 1

BINGO

‘Mama was queen of the mambo, papa was king of the CongoDeep down in the jungle, I started bangin’ my first bongoEvery monkey’d like to be in my place instead of me‘Cause I’m the king of bongo, baby, I’m the king of bongo bong’

Opopa was as surprised as the rest of the Bird and Baby when he lurched from his barstool, it had been his home and resting place for over a year, it even had a name, Sid … a slight foreshortening of, “Oh shut’ap n sid’own!”, uttered loudly many a time by fellow drinkers at Opopa. Sid started to cool as Opopa’s fatty arse left its resting place and walked off. It was a happy stool in that it knew that it would soon be warmed up again by said buttocks, these little occasional trips were an infrequent but regular occurrence. Sid would prove to be disappointed, as much as an inanimate bar stool can be, in that Opopa shocked everyone by leaving by the main door, a waft of fresh air and sunlight crept into the bird and baby but was quickly overcome by the fumes of ale, weed smoke and the general gloom generated from small overcrowded bars full of customers. The regulars were a mixed bag as always, mostly jolly hobbits whiling their lives away with an occasional adventurer from rarer parts, a noticeable increase of their like of late, odd times indeed. Everyone expected Opopa to reappear, embarrassed, more red in the face than normal, having taken the wrong door to the ‘facilities’, it had happened before. All were further shocked when they gathered after a small passage of time spent staring at the door expectantly, that he had either passed out or gone off. A momentary moments silence was shared among the drinkers, glasses raised and then normality once again interceded and the Bird and Baby went back to normal.

Sid continued to cool, he did what all bar stools do in this situation which was send subliminal signals out to all n sundry that, ‘Drinking was good.’, ‘The bar was where to get drinks.’ and that, ‘Although one drink is good, two or more is better!’ and finally ‘While you’re standing waiting at the bar why don’t you pull up a barstool and rest those aching footsies.’ When the unsuspecting barstool has reeled in a victim it then reinforces its hold with messages that reinforce comfort and remind the user of the proximity to the bar, indeed that, ‘Others are more likely to spill or even steal your drink the further away from the bar you are.’

This is obviously a triple symbiotic relationship for all concerned, the punter, the stool and of course, the publican who can sell more drinks which explains there very existence as they are always so bloody uncomfortable, realized always after the fact; the barstool would have done well, would it could, to evolve softer wood. Some barstools counter this by wearing a hat, but many think that they interfere with the telepathic signals.

‘I went to the big town where there is a lot of soundFrom the jungle to the cityLooking for a bigger crownSo I play my boogie for the people of big city’

Opopa breathed in the fresh air and sobered up quickly. The sun was shining in the persistent shire spring, it was warm and dazzling. His thieving instincts had kicked in all of a sudden; somewhere there was loot up for grabs. Not the free loot that appeared daily in the form of hobbit presents which had maintained him in the laconic lifestyle he had been having. Loot, loot that had never been, loot that never ever before had been! New Loot, the world had never, ever, ever, seen. And it was coming soon, and coming to Michel Delving. Opopa knew this, one legged at birth and fitted with a small peg leg throughout his life; you could not tell outwardly that it was so. Internally he knew he was hopping when others saw him walking. He hoped that others would not use a saw and see him hop. Life is a see-saw of possibilities sometimes. Anyway, this wood had somehow imparted its latent telepathic powers into Opopa who had become a burglar of repute, a repute of idleness, not so much for skill or daring-do, but he was always there for a free hand out!

Sometimes he was too early!

Opopa checked the mail box in the Auction House again, and again. It was still empty! Confused Opopa walked back to the Bird and Baby. Sid had been taken but it was not hard for Opopa the burglar to steal it back. Sipping his beer he slid back into his normal daily routine of doing nothing much. At some point he absent-mindedly mumbled, “Bingo, what kind of name is that for a hobbit…”

‘But they don’t go crazy when I’m bangin’ in my boogieI’m the, king of the bongo, king of the bongo bongHear me when I comeKing of the bongo, king of the bongo bong’

The next day the same sense of forelooting incentivized Opopa to return to the postbox and would ya ‘Adam n Eve it’ there was a letter. A letter from a Bingo Boffin…

‘Request for assistance!

Hullo there, and well-met! I hope this missive is not intruding upon anything important. And if by unhappy chance it I, then I am sure you will disregard it and take no offence. But it is my very sincere hope that it does not intrude, and instead is met with some degree of interest and curiosity in the matter I propose. For, you see, I have need of some help worth a small matter, and…

Well I say ‘small’ matter, but I do not know how long it might take. It could end up being quite a ‘big’ matter as these things go! But we will not know until it is quite underway. Will we?’

If you are interested in learning more, I ask that you please seek me out at my comfortable hobbit-hole just north of the town hole, in Michel Delving. Being the principal town of the Shire.

Yours in need and looking forward to your positive reply

Mr. Bing Boffin, Michel-Delving’

After shaking the envelope a few times, just in case he had missed something, a small gem or other small precious item would be nice! Opopa was intrigued. He decided to follow this up. ‘Once the path to loot had been started it must be followed to its conclusion.’ a personal motto of his, which also contained a hidden ending clause of, ‘…unless it passes close to a bar’. And that ‘closeness’ was applied very subjectively, and often, by Opopa.

Opopa’s extrasensory senses guided him north, a virtual arrow pointing the way to Bingo. It was almost as if he had a visible mental map, yeah just up and right in his field of vision, it even showed monsters as red dots at times. Sometimes that was real useful and at other times it drove him quite dotty. There Bingo was, in the distance, outside a hobbit hole… flaming gold ring burning brightly in the sun, the usual indicator that his forelooting sense was active. Sometimes his powers overcompensated almost as if teasing him, yes he knew that was a door next to Bingo, why it should state in glowing white writing in his head was beyond him.

‘They say that I’m a clownMaking too much dirty soundThey say there is no place for little monkey in this townNobody’d like to be in my place instead of me’

Bingo looked like a normal hobbit his most stand out feature being his shiny bright hair; he was jolly and eager to start conversation with Opopa, not bothered by his raffish looks or slight odour of stale ale and weed smoke.

“A pleasant day to you, friend. If you have a moment or two to spare, do you think I might trouble you for a spell?”

‘Not bloody likely!’ thought Opopa, who knew nothing of spells, but Bingo continued before he could voice his concerns…

“My name is Bingo, of the Delving-field Boffins, and it is so rare to see new folk on the path that runs by my hole. It is a pleasure to meet you!”

“Well you did send me a letter, and I have been in these parts for quite some time, thereover in the Bird n Baby actually…”, Opopa points over in the direction of the pub…

Bingo continued oblivious to Opopa’s words, “I have been feeling a mite lonely these days, you see, and could use a festive occasion on the horizon to put a spring in my step and to occupy my thought. Perhaps a dinner-party would do the trick? Yes, that sounds capital! I will invite my neighbours, and you as well, of course!”

“Well I don’t know…a dinner party?” Opopa had run off with a nice silver candlestick in his pocket after the last dinner party he had been invited to, and he smiled inwardly at the thought of free good food, fine wines and home brewed ales, in fact he possibly started to salivate. He was getting a bit tired of the same pub grub and nice as the beer selection was at the Bird n Baby it was a little limited. Variety was of course the spice of life… “Yeah! Sure. But how can I help?”

“Could you run down to the Michel Delving market and assess some of the produce on display? Tell me what foods look particularly delicious, and that may give me the spark of inspiration for a course or three to serve at my party!” Bingo points behind over Opopa’s shoulder, “The market is to the south-east of my hobbit-hole.”

‘Why not?’ thought Opopa, and he turned around and headed off to the market.

‘Cause nobody go crazy when I’m bangin’ on my boogieI’m the, king of the bongo, king of the bongo bongHear me when I comeKing of the bongo, king of the bongo bong’

Well if variety was the spice of life, the market was close to death: there were some delicious greens, ripe apples and a small mountain of potatoes. With nothing else to inspect Opopa wandered over to a hobbit sat next to a pie, there was a golden forelooting ring above his head which another instinct always warned him away from, something to do with lots of work for small reward, but today he decided to get close to that hobbit and his pie! It sure did look tasty and smelt wonderful, but Hugo, who’s pie it was, refused to hand it over. Unless he was to return it to Holly Hornblower in Hobbington, it was something to do with being spoiled with bad berries. The Green Dragon is in Hobbington but it is fulla too many arty, poety types which interfere with the drinking too much for Opopa’s taste so he declined.

“Well that’s that” He exclaimed to no-one in particular and decided there was nothing else to see, his lootification inner sense informed him that four items inspected was quite sufficient for Bingo, which did give him slight misgivings about the upcoming dinner party fare.

‘Bangin’ on my bongo all that swing belongs to meI’m so happy there’s nobody in my place instead of meI’m a king without a crown hanging loose in a big townBut I’m the king of bongo baby, I’m the king of bongo bong’

He hadn’t noticed before that the Bounders statue had been worked upon yet again. He had contributed Bounder Tokens to that but in far from large amounts enough to be memorized on the actual plaque attached. And the gardens and bushes all looked rather nice. He spotted Polo hiding behind the statue. ‘Cor blimey!’ He thought. ‘That’s all this kid does all day, and why does he hide there in plain sight?’ He promptly demonstrated to himself that the new pink flower bushes made a much more superior hiding place. Polo smirked at Opopa but it was not that strange to Polo as he had seen drunk Opopa doing much stranger things!

Opopa picked off the last pink petals as he walked back to Bingo who looked pleased to see him so quickly returned. After Opopa had explained about the apples and the potatoes and the greens, Bingo was not down heartened and seemed more fired up than ever about his dinner and now suggested that some cookery books in Tuckborough be referenced… The lootification sense was still pulling strongly at his soul so he decided to persist in the endeavor to help Bingo.

Thoughts of a cold beer tried to distract him, the slight pull of Sid tried to exert itself, even from this distance, they had built up quite a rapport by now. “The loot is strong within this one.” Muttered Opopa to himself as he mounted up on his pony for his trip to the library…

‘King of the bongo, king of the bongo bongHear me when I come, babyKing of the bongo, king of the bongo bong’